Starcraft: Beginnings
by MagnusScriptor
Summary: Where are all these ultrapowerful entities coming from, anyhow? How come you never see them do anything ultrapowerful? Questions need answers, and you'll find a few here.
1. The Beginning

_Receiving incoming transmission . . . _

**Magnus Scriptor:** Well, I'm back. It's summer vacation, so I'll be doing a good bit more writing. This particular story will include two chapters, which are NOT chronologically consecutive. By that I mean that the second takes place some time after the first. I wanted to give you my version of how this got started; so this should provide a few answers and some interesting questions. Incidentally, every name in this chapter after the first paragraph means something, so I'll give you a "cookie" if you can figure them all out. It shouldn't be too hard. Also, Starcraft II is finally announced (Ever since TF2 was announced, I knew that Starcraft II would be coming soon; and I almost guessed that it had been in the works for some time). The Protoss look a wee bit cartoony, but it just looks so amazingly awesome that I can't complain. But the darned thing about sequels is that they screw with my stories. If they retcon Dark Origins out of continuity, I will most bountifully pissed, incidentally. That's enough from me, get reading!

_Transmission terminated._

A dark night enshrouded the small town of Chau Barin. Taking its name from the planet that it was founded on, and the family name of its founder, the town had existed since the colonizing of the planet by Confederate prospectors. Alan Barin was heard to remark, as he marked the area on his map, that: "Such nights as these I have never seen before." Then, as now, it was a clouded night, but light still shone here and there, reflected from other planets where the sun still shone brightly. There was a strange rustling in the hills around the town, but only the sharpest eye could have caught the movement in the shadows.

"Ghost Team Five in position, HQ," hissed a shadow slightly darker than most. A crackle of static, inaudible to all but the figure enshrouded by darkness, preceded the response.

"Roger that. Move in on the target. Stay alert."

"Threat level was assessed as minimal, will proceed according to original assessment."

"Negative, Five. External threat level has been maximized. Someone else is making a move."

"Internal threat level is static?"

"That's an affirmative, Five."

"Then we proceed as planned."

"Move out. Go code is 'Lima Charley."

Agent 7526, callsign: "Protesilaus," snapped into action. He took the lead, moving forward as four other identical figures began to move through the shadows, following him in standard rhombus formation.

Suddenly, there was a noise, one like the scrape of metal on bone. Protesilaus quickly reached over his shoulder and pulled his C-10 Canister Rifle into firing position. The other Ghosts did the same, facing outwards. Protesilaus slowly straightened from the crouch he sank into before, and scanned the surrounding area through his night-vision goggles. The implants in his eyes adjusted to focus on the surrounding area, and he found nothing. He raised his right hand in a fist, and then spread his fingers out in a sharp motion, indicating the all-clear.

Then there was another noise, a whoosh of air as if a sudden wind had sprung up. But this was no wind. One of the trailing Ghosts fell to the ground, as something bounced with a strange sound, and rolled off towards one of the others. Protesilaus swung around and tracked it, sighting in on the projectile, whatever it might be. As it came to a stop, a cowled head stared at Protesilaus, and under its goggles, he knew the eyes were devoid of life.

Protesilaus had only a second to process the decapitation before It was on them again. Two more Ghosts fell immediately to its unearthly weapon, each impaled through the chest. Neither of the two remaining Ghosts could even see a blur, just the results of the grisly strikes.

Protesilaus pulled his pistols from their holsters, and his only remaining subordinate did likewise. Protesilaus thought to send an emergency message to HQ, but knew that the stilling of three heart-monitors would provide enough explanation for radio silence. Back to back, pistols aimed in every direction, the Ghosts waited. And then with one blow, two more heads joined the third, and then all was still.

Some time later, Mark Cartagros awoke from a strange dream. He couldn't remember what had happened, but it was something that frightened him. Something was calling him, and he didn't want to go. He noticed that he had been sweating, and not because of the warm night. A glance at the clock told him that it was around midnight. Mark was still tired, but felt very strange after his dream. He lay back down, and put his arm around his wife, hoping to calm himself by her presence. As his hand moved down her side to her waist, he suddenly felt something out of place. There was a wetness there, and something felt wrong. He rolled over, and thrust his hand into a patch of light that showed through the skylight. It gleamed red. "Blood," gasped Mark. He grabbed his wife's arm to try and wake her, to get her to a hospital, but it was cold. As cold as death. Mark let go, and sank back into his bed. "It's another dream, that's all it is, just another dream," he muttered to himself, over and over again. Then, he got out of bed, and pulled on his bathrobe. Mark had always believed that dreams were meant to show something, and once they had shown it they would end. So his goal was always to find the end of the dream as quickly as possible, and return to normal sleep.

His feet moved silently across the lush carpet. As Mark was a prominent Chau Saran surveyor, he lived in a state of moderate luxury. Indeed, as he was not a member of the privileged elite by birth, it could be said he was one of the richest plebeians in the entire Confederacy, with a great degree of truth. He touched a panel by the doorpost to open the door, and nothing happened. He touched his hand to the light switch, and immediately drew it back. Mark did not want to look upon his dead wife, even in a dream. He then felt around the edges of the door for anything blocking it, and realized that there was a large hole in the door. Only the edges of the door remained intact; the middle portion was shattered. Mark stepped back in surprise, and his foot landed on a shard of metal from the door. He winced in pain, and dug it out of his foot with the tip of his finger. Mark half-walked, half-limped to his bedside and grabbed his slippers from under the bed, sliding them on. He rummaged through the drawers of his bedside table and found a flashlight. He turned it on and squeezed through the hole in the doorway, making sure that there was plenty of room between him and the sharp edges, and walked quickly to his children's room. Angela had given birth to twin girls several months ago, and Mark wanted to ensure that they were safe in this strange dream.

This door slid open with ease, but something crunched under-foot with each step he took inside. Mark shone the flashlight down to the floor, and up to the shattered window, the glass of which was strewn across the carpet. He then moved the beam over to the bed where his darling girls lay, seemingly still in slumber. But their hair seemed different somehow, and Mark moved closer to them. Their thin strands of hair were matted with a dark brown substance, and their eyes were tightly closed. Mark took the younger in his hands, and tried to pick her up. But her head lolled back, and as he reached a hand up to steady it, it filled with the same oozing wetness as before. Tears began to stream from Mark's eyes, as he set the child back into her bed.

"No, this can't be happening," he said to himself. "It's so real; it can't be real. It's impossible; no one would have done this to children. And beasts would not have spared me. It must be a dream. Yes, it's a dream! It has to be," he finished sorrowfully, tears still trickling down his face as he saw the blood on his hands. He tried to wipe them on the blankets, on the floor, on anything! But he could not take it all off, nor could he remove the image from his mind. His hands dripping with the blood and brains of his child and his beloved wife.

"I assure you, it is quite real," said a voice from behind him. Mark whirled, only to see the face of his neighbor Alan Charmin.

"How do you know that?" asked Mark, angrily.

"Because I killed them," came the voice from Alan, or rather, from _behind_ Alan. A trickle of blood began to trickle from the actor's mouth, and the creature behind him flung him forward to the ground, the massive hole in his chest providing Mark with a new image, but instead of Alan's bearded visage, he saw his own wife's face. That was what her wound must have looked like.

"What are you?" screamed Mark.

"I am a herald, a harbinger," said the inhuman voice. "You may call me Adam Sirurn, if you wish. I care not."

"A herald of what? Death?"

"A new age. And you shall be an integral part of it."

"You're a murdering monster! I'll kill you!" Mark hurled the flashlight towards the voice and charged at it. The flashlight flew back at him and knocked him to the ground.

"Pathetic."

"Damn you! I'd rather die before being a slave to you, you fucked up _garsom_!"

"_You_ will die. But I will have use of what is left."

"I don't know what the fuck you're talking about!" yelled Mark. Suddenly, an idea came to him. He ran towards the window, hoping to escape, and suddenly his feet went numb."

"You can't escape," sneered the Adam, "just as your wife could not, before I returned her for you to find. And your children, ah! What artist could have honored them any greater than I? Such a death! Such colors and patterns as the life of their bodies departed! Such beautiful pain as they slowly lost themselves along with their bodies! It has been too many ages since I have had such pleasure." Mark reached out and grabbed a shard of glass, bringing it to his wrist, just as his arms numbed, and the glass dropped from his nerveless fingers.

"Now, I have not caused you enough pain yet, though the taste of your hatred is savory indeed." There was a strange smacking sound, and it seemed to Mark as if the speaker was licking his lips. The thought filled him with fury, and his eyes seemed to heat up as he glared towards the darkness that still shrouded this mysterious "Adam." Then something happened. Something incredible, something that Mark could never have foreseen.

Twin beams of energy shot from Mark's eyes, and they meet in front of him. His surprise was almost overwhelming, but his hatred soared above it. Under his breath, his lips moved, forming words; wishes of death and destruction. The beams met and shot towards the voice, burning away at the shadows surrounding it.

"Yes!" shouted Adam. "Feed your hatred, let your anger course through your body! Transform! Become a god and devour the souls of others to feed your power! Be as I!"

"I will never be as you!" retorted Mark, and willed his body's freedom. The beams switched focus, and feeling returned to his arms and legs, just as dark beams shot towards him. Mark willed speed to his limbs, and he dodged to the side, as the dark beams blew through the wall of his house and into the street below; shattering the pavement. Then they rebounded upwards and crashed like thunder into the night sky. And all around Chau Barin, the shadows came alive and scuttled towards the village.

"But you are! Power corrupts, my friend. Would you give up this power? Would you destroy me and then stand down?"

"Yes! I shall!" screamed Mark, unleashing his hatred once more.

"You cannot will control to yourself. All you have done is increase your mind's control over matter; you cannot increase your mind with your mind! You cannot give this power away! You would never see your family again! They're gone! If you bring them back, you become as I!"

"Then I shall join them in Heaven, after I send you back to Hell!" roared Mark, and power flooded him. His eyes changed from a tranquil, almost naïve brown to a brilliant blue. His long hair billowed behind him, caught in the force of his powers as he added more and more power to the beams which transfixed Adam. The voice screamed, anger and pain combining in a mighty shout. Mark threw more and more of himself into his body and into Adam as the scream increased in pitch. And then it stopped, and Mark could not move. His mind felt clouded, and he fell to the ground. No matter how he willed his hands to push himself up and his feet to stand under him, nothing happened.

"I imagine you are wondering what happened," said Adam, suddenly calm. "Well, you're a smart guy; I'll leave you to figure it out. In the meantime, let me show you something." And Mark found himself moving, standing upright. But instead of attacking Adam once more, he walked to the hole in the wall. A blood-curdling shriek suddenly filled the night, cut off as a figure was hurled from a window farther down the street, landing with a grisly thud on the ground, blood leaking from a massive cut that almost bisected the woman. Screams rang out from all over the village, and none lasted more than a few seconds. Gunfire suddenly sounded, and floodlights clicked on; revealing a tide of insect-like creatures, some spattered with blood and gore, some still unblooded, but all unsated. Guards around the nearby Chau Sara Administrative Council Building fired their weapons into the creatures, but everyone that fell, and they were all too few, was replacing by a dozen, a hundred more. The guards fell and were trampled as the tide moved on.

"Delicious, isn't it?" said Adam's voice. But this time, it sounded inside Mark's head. Mark nodded, against his will, as Adam's presence filled him, quenching him in a torrent of power. Then Mark was gone from his lithe and limber body, and Adam filled it. Adam's new eyes glowed, and changed their colors, as the very DNA changed to an entirely new configuration; effectively erasing any marker of the body's former owner. All else remained the same, and Adam purred with pleasure as the blood began to pour into the streets. With a wave of his hand, the sewers closed, and the river of blood from the corpses that were piled along the streets flowed on. Adam smiled, and laughed a demonic laugh, as he turned from the window and disappeared.

"**A new name for a new body, but still the old presence. This danger may not go unseen or uncountered. The Balance is in danger. Find an agent, and empower him."**

"**Yes, my lord. The sword of Azrael shall sing again."**


	2. For every Villain, a Hero must rise

_Receiving incoming transmission . . ._

**Magnus Scriptor:** Yes, this is a repost of an "Interlude" which appears in "First Contact," but it technically belongs here as well. Just making it easier on the reader.

_Transmission terminated_

Far away from the struggles of Koprulu, a lone pilgrim finished a long journey. The cloaked and hooded figure lay his staff down on the ground, and prostrated himself before an ancient temple. The temple was built of gargantuan stones, some similar to granite and marble. The traveler stood, picked up his staff, and began to walk up the steps of the temple. With his left hand, he drew forth a shimmering green orb from inside his cloak, and held it forward. It gave off a little light, but that was not why he carried it. As it touched the doorway of the temple, the air seemed to quiver and vibrate like a plucked string. Satisfied with the result, he placed the sphere back within its pocket. The man then drew his hood back, revealing jade eyes, and strong features. He had high cheekbones, and a single identical scar ran down each. The man's hair was dark and long, and was tied into a ponytail with a strip of red cloth. Setting aside his staff, which was made of a strange wood and trimmed with gold, the traveler reached into his pocket again, and drew forth a second orb, this one a bright white. As he did so, he spoke strange words in an ancient tongue. With each syllable, a single stone began to shift and move. As he finished his incantation, he hurled the orb at the stone. It burst and covered the stone with a strange glow, and the solid rock popped out of the wall as if nothing had held it in place, and split in two. Inside of it was a single golden ring, in the exact center of the cube, which the two halves of the rock had been molded around. The traveler blinked once, and the cloak disappeared. The man shook his head, as if awakening from a strange dream. He wore a skin-tight suit of jet-black, and a dark cowl covered his entire face, except where bulging goggles granted his eyes sight beyond that of a normal man. Knives, pistols, and a rifle were hung from the harness he wore, each within his grasp. There too were stored explosives and ammunition for the warrior. But he seemed taken aback, surprised by his whereabouts and what was happening. An expression of confusion drifted over his masked face, and his eyes flitted to and fro, seeking a cause for his presence there. Finally, he spoke. "Alpha Squad? A-3 here, what's our status?" There was no response to his query. He repeated his question, but garnered no new answer. The operative unholstered his pistols, and checked all of the exits to the room he was in. Then he returned to its center, where the ring still lay on the floor. He touched it, cautiously. It jumped up, and fastened around his little finger. The narrow circle of gold sealed tight to his hand, even through the strong glove. The operative tried to tear it off, but suddenly felt a presence in his mind.

_** Good day to you, Terran**_

_Wait, what is going on? Who are you? Where am I?_

_ ** In a moment you will find that you know the answers, and I will know you as well. ** _

_ No! I won't let you inside my head! _

_** Your strength does you credit, Terran, but you must give in. It is for your good, and for the good of the world. **_

_ I'll never give in! You'll kill me first! _

_** See my power and realize that it is only out of respect for you that I have given you a choice. ** _

_ Resistance is pointless then. _

_** The choice I have given you is no mere illusion, Terran. But let me convince you. See this, a plan for all the world ** _

_It moves like water. _

_**As the choices of men twist and turn their destinies, so must Fate shift and flow to suit your unreason. **_

_ I see. But what use will you have of me? _

_** Do you then grant me your use? ** _

_ Aye, I shall own you as master. _

_** All is well then. I shall explain concisely, for leisure of time is a rare gift, and one I have not been granted now. Fate cannot twist and turn and change for every rash decision of Man. So, therefore, steps must be taken to ensure that Man does not stray too far from his destiny. I am an agent of this calling, as you will become now." **_

___ It seems so clear. But how may I influence men's fates, through word or deed?_

_****__** Either as you are called to. You must seem as one of them, and so I will not yet grant you all the strength that is your calling. You shall inherit it when the time is right. For now, the ring is of no further use. But it will be essential soon. I will grant you a great tool, with which to reap the souls of the beasts that shall fight you, and neither give nor take any quarter. For this too you have been called. But until the skies blacken with the servants of darkness and the earth shakes with the march of their feet, you shall seem no more than any other man. But wisdom will I grant you, and I will watch over you, ensuring your life and mine as well. Do you accept all this? ** _

___ I do, mighty one._

_****__ ** It is well. Go now, report back to your squad. I will withdraw into a corner of your mind until I am needed again, for you. Give them no indication of what has happened, save to say that you investigated a disturbance, and tracked a set of disfigured beasts, yet still alive, to the temple. There you lost their trail, and returned for the help of your team. Go now, and serve me as I serve my master! **_

___ By what name may I call you?_

_****__** You know it as your own, new name. ** _

___Indeed I do. Thank you, lord._

The man then left the temple, striding quickly back to where he knew his fellows awaited him. He followed a narrow dirt path, and was suddenly surrounded as men in identical uniforms rose out of the tall grass surrounding him. He nodded to his commander, and repeated the words he had been told to deliver. His commander nodded, and the six Ghosts began to move stealthily towards the temple grounds. And in the back of the Ghost's mind, a voice whispered to him.

_**Well done, Azrael, my son.**_

_ Receiving incoming transmission . . ._

**Magnus Scriptor:** Well . . . now you see how it all started. A little confusing, to be sure. But trying to capture such world-altering experiences in a few words is a difficult task. Please read and review, I like hearing anything you have to say.

_Transmission terminated._


End file.
